5 Years

Sometimes I feel like I have written all there is to write. And then I realize I am wrong. 

The last blog update I wrote was last year in October. A full year has gone by since I have written. I was curious to see how my process of grief would go if I didn't have an intentional place to put my writing.  I journal very regularly but my writing looks and sounds different when I know no one will read it. During a recent therapy appointment, I realized I am doing myself a disservice by not writing. I am making my head more of a mess than it already is. 

When I started this blog it was a way for me to connect with my friends and family to share with them the process of my grief, to thank them for their love and support, and to give insight into what it is like to be widowed at 29. Over the years I have written about a myriad of topics about widowhood and being a single mom. I always posted my blog on the 15th of each month because Matt passed on October 15th. Approaching each month, knowing I wanted to share on my blog, knowing I wanted to write, lead to me processing in a different way than I have this past year. Writing more or less forced me to look at my grief through a different lens. And I think that lens has brought a lot of insight and healing. 

Without using this outlet for my grief, I have noticed a difference in my mental health, my physical health, and my emotional health. I am more scattered, more tired, more unclear on my feelings. Because of the negative impact that not writing has had on me, I decided it was time again. So here I am. Writing again. Not sure the frequency. Not sure what these posts will look like or entail. But I don't believe I have written my last word. I believe I have more to say.

It has been 5 years without Matt. And much like the anniversaries prior, I am drained. I find myself crying often. I look at the clock and relive where I was at that moment 5 years ago today. The grief is still there. It has shifted. But I don't hurt any less.

Since I haven't written monthly, there is a full year of catching up to do. I don't know that now is the time to try to condense it into writing but I do feel like now is a good time for some reflection. In some ways, I thought my life would look a lot different after 5 years without Matt. I thought I had dug from the very bottom and only had one way to go. Up. I never dreamed I would go back down. Never thought I would hit rock bottom again. That I would rebuild again. But I did. I hurt in new ways. A culmination of life threw me down to a place where I was gasping for breath and struggling to live. I tore open old wounds, discovered new ones, and was faced with hurt and trials that I thought I had overcome.

During that episode, I was put in contact with a new therapist. I have been seeing the same one for 5 years now. She has done a lot of work with me and helped me tremendously. I still see her and utilize her tools. My new therapist works a lot with trauma and crisis. He has a different perspective and outlook on things (partly due to his gender). And he has helped me a lot in a very short time. 

With the combination of two therapists, being put back on antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds, and being really mindful at all times, I am finally starting to feel better. Never in my life had I felt depression so dark and anxiety so high. After Matt passed I thought I hit rock bottom. I thought I knew what that felt like. But I had even farther to go. I realized that I didn't hit rock bottom then because I simply couldn't. We had to plan Matt's memorial services, write the obituary, I had probate, houses to sell, a house to build, have a baby, and somehow do it all while grieving the loss of my husband. Finally, after 4 1/2 years, I collapsed. In the midst of a pandemic, with nowhere to go, no outlets, no people to see, I felt as though nothing could pull me out of bed. Except my kids. And even caring for Olivia and Rylan was so overwhelming and daunting. I couldn't do it. I needed help. 

When life got messy, as it did for many of us in 2020, when my floor fell from beneath me, I slipped into the darkest place I've ever known. My kids are old enough to be taken care of by anyone. They aren't in diapers, nursing, or in my belly. Which meant my body could fully crash as well. I didn't have to eat like I did before to nourish a growing baby. I could eat garbage, drink too much, not exercise, and sleep all day because my body wasn't for anyone except me. 

The thing I learned during this rapid spiral is how rapidly I can overcome it as well. Don't get me wrong, I am still struggling every day with some deep voids and heavy hurt. I still grieve. But I have a foundation of tools acquired from years of therapy that helped get me back on track. I also have the ability to separate the loss of Matt from other pain that life causes. A few years ago, all pain was mixed with the grief of losing Matt. Separating it at times is incredibly important. 

Throughout this process of rebuilding myself, again, I have also seen the work I had left behind that needed to get done. I hadn't touched any of Matt's things in 5 years. My house had wedding pictures on the walls, I slept in his t-shirts, and I held onto every physical part of him that I could. I wasn't wrong in any of this. There is no timeline. There is no right or wrong way to do this. But for me, I knew I had to make physical space and give myself permission to grieve differently. 

I slowly started going through Matt's stuff. First, it was the stuff under the counter in the bathroom...his toothbrush, comb, beard oil, deodorant, etc. Then it was going through boxes and boxes of notes and cards. I didn't get rid of everything. There are pieces of history between us that I never want to forget or get rid of. Like a loving note he left me one day that simply said, "You smell." Haha. But I did go through a lot of boxes. I got rid of kitchen utensils that didn't work but that I was holding onto because "it was Matt's" or our bedsheets that wore so thin after 10 years of sleeping on them. I got new ones but couldn't throw away the ripped ones because "Matt slept on them next to me."

It didn't take me long to realize that the things left are going to wear out, they will break, they will get lost, they will stop working. Every physical item I have left will dissolve with time. But the memories will last forever. That isn't to say that all loss and grief mean you have to go through the physical stuff left behind. But for me, that process was very important. 

I am a creature of habit. Since losing Matt I have learned that change is uncomfortable. I have learned healing hurts. I have also learned that in order to not let grief, trauma, and crisis define me that I have to do the work. For me to progress forward with grief being part of me, I had to go through his stuff. I had to touch it all. I had to remember the memories that certain shirts held. I had to smell the familiarity. And I had to let it go. 

But letting go of Matt's items doesn't mean I am letting go of him. As I watched his stuff leave my house, I certainly felt sadness and grief. But I also felt healing and lightness. In no way did letting go of his stuff change how I feel about Matt being gone. It gave me more mental and emotional space to grieve him differently. It gave me space to allow for new healing. It gave me new opportunities.

I have said before, and I will say it again, I will never, ever stop loving and grieving Matt. I will never stop missing him for myself, for our families, our friends, and especially for our children.